


The Curious Conundrum of Dr. Fleach

by Metal_Chocobo



Category: Scooby Doo! Mystery Incorporated (TV 2010)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Yuletide 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-15 09:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13028604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_Chocobo/pseuds/Metal_Chocobo
Summary: No one at Darrow University knew Dr. Fleach particularly well, but even Hatecraft could see something was upsetting his colleague.





	The Curious Conundrum of Dr. Fleach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cakemage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakemage/gifts).



> You had asked for a bit of Hatecraft as an extra and I'm afraid you may have gotten a little more than either of us bargained for.

The television’s announcement of an earthquake in Bangladesh would have been uneventful; save for the fact Dr. Fleach dropped her coffee mug. Hatecraft knew she had been distracted by the news report because he noticed her staring intently at it as the coffee from her shattered mug saturated her shoes and stockings. He was just about to get up from his seat and see what was the matter when the new anchors turned to another matter and Dr. Fleach stalked out of the break room, leaving her coffee remains behind.

“I wonder what that was about?” Hatecraft mused.

“Being a nosey-parker again, eh H.P.?” Regina Wentworth grinned, gently elbowing him in his side. “I know your curiosity won’t be satisfied until you know what’s going on with our resident porcupine, so you’d best go ferret it out.”

Hatecraft grimaced, but followed Dr. Fleach as Regina suggested. He liked to think that he got along quite well with most of his colleagues at Darrow University, however Dr. Fleach had always been the exception. To be fair, she rarely talked to anyone outside of the science department and even with her closest coworkers she reportedly stuck to professional matters.

Indeed, the week where Dr. Fleach was mellow and gregarious with everyone had the gossip mill wondering if some of the grad students were slipping her special brownies or otherwise drugging her into being more pleasant. While of course Hatecraft would never approve of allowing anyone altered without their permission, he had to admit it was nice when Dr. Fleach was willing to have a conversation with him about the golden age of detective novels. It gave him an insight into her humanity, which was usually inaccessible. Now that a sliver of it had returned to the surface he realized he needed to find out the cause.

He caught up with her in the hall solely due to his long legs, as she was briskly striding back toward the science department. Dr. Fleach’s head was bent over the phone in her hand as she tapped the screen. She was mumbling something under her breath as she worked on her phone, but Hatecraft would not be so indecorous as to suggest that Dr. Fleach was cursing out the device. After all, he couldn’t hear what exactly she was saying.

“Are you alright, Dr. Fleach?” Hatecraft called out hesitantly. Dr. Fleach didn’t react. He got close enough to see that she was dialing a phone number. From the call log, it looked like she had been repeatedly trying it. “Dr. Fleach?”

“Why won’t you pick up?” Dr. Fleach growled into her phone. He must have made some movement that caught her eye because she suddenly turned to glare at him. “Do you need something, Hatecraft?”

“You seemed upset when you left the break room,” Hatecraft said. Of course, considering this was Dr. Fleach he should have expected this level of vitriol in their day-to-day communication, but it still left him disconcerted. “I thought that the earthquake report might have left you upset.”

“I simply remembered I had to make an important phone call,” Dr. Fleach replied. She pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the redial button. “Of course I left the break room for a private phone call. I would simply like to get through and—damn it, why isn’t she picking up?”

“Is she in Bangladesh?” Hatecraft asked. “We could… I don’t know, technology isn’t my personal forte, but perhaps we could scour the internet for signs that your friend is alright?”

“I appreciate your concern, Dr. Hatecraft, but I can handle my own affairs,” Dr. Fleach said. She pointedly adjusted her glasses as she shoved her phone in her jumper pocket. “I’m sure she is simply away from her phone and will call me back later. In the meantime, don’t you have a lecture to give?”

Hatecraft glanced at his watch and saw that she was right. He hadn’t realized she knew his schedule well enough to predict this, but it made a certain amount of sense; he usually had to leave the break room at about this time to reach his lecture hall in time to teach English 101 to half-asleep freshmen. By the time he looked back up to thank her, she was already down the hall and back on her phone. Hatecraft certainly didn’t know Dr. Fleach particularly well, and wasn’t the best with people in general, but even he could tell when someone truly wasn’t okay. 

Over the next several days Hatecraft kept an eye on Dr. Fleach. She was terser than typical, white knuckled to the point where he was sure her palms were bloody, and her lips were always pinched into a tight white line. Perhaps even more worryingly, Dr. Fleach seemed to be in a continual fog with her mind always thousands of miles away, most likely somewhere in Bangladesh with the friend who was ‘just fine.’ She still showed up for her lectures, attended meetings, and graded paperwork, but after the first day of this strange behavior it was clear one of her graduate students was always hanging around her—keeping an eye on her to ensure she didn’t forget anything and got to where she was needed. Normally Dr. Fleach would hate this sort of attention, insisting she didn’t need a nanny. Hatecraft could only wonder what had happened in her lab to prompt this new attitude by her students. 

Dr. Fleach’s unexpected deterioration might have continued indefinitely, save for a phone call. It came during a morning break almost exactly a week after the news report sent her on this downward spiral. Hatecraft could see the tension leave her body the moment she answered her phone and heard the voice on the other end—it was like a taut guitar string had snapped and Dr. Fleach literally sank. He had a feeling she would have sunk all the way to the floor if there hadn’t been an empty chair right behind her. 

“I’m just glad you’re alive!” Dr. Fleach said loudly enough to attract the attention of the faculty surrounding her. However, she didn’t notice, as she was so intent on her phone call. As she didn’t say anything for a while, the others turned away, but Hatecraft was riveted. He was sure this had to be her friend—whatever value that word really had—who had been in Bangladesh during the earthquake.

Pretending he simply wanted more coffee, Hatecraft rose from his seat and drifted over to the coffee maker on a counter near Dr. Fleach. Normally he wouldn’t go near decaf with a ten-foot pole, which is what this particular pot only ever contained, but he’d make sacrifices in the name of concern… or perhaps more aptly, curiosity. Dr. Fleach didn’t even notice him drifting about, nor did she seem to care when he sat down at the table beside her. If he was going to eavesdrop, he may as well go all in.

“I swear, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” Dr. Fleach said as she wiped a finger under her glasses. “It had been so long since the quake I was afraid…”

She fell silent for a minute or so, nodding vaguely at whatever the voice on the other end said. As it continued she bit her lower lip and got that pinched look to her face that Hatecraft recognized as being Dr. Fleach’s truly frustrated face. He wondered if she was about to start yelling.

“I don’t care how much it costs,” Dr. Fleach hissed. “You book the next flight home this instant.”

There was another silence on the professor’s part and this time whatever the other person was saying had her shaking her head.

“No, this is exactly why we have savings. Do it.” Then her expression cleared into a surprisingly bright smile that caught Hatecraft off guard. She must have gotten her way. “I can’t wait to see you too. Call me as soon as you have a flight.”

A few more things were said that had Dr. Fleach smiling, nodding, and murmuring quietly enough not to be overheard. Eventually she hung up and gave a satisfied sigh.

“I take it your friend is alright?” Hatecraft asked when their eyes met. Hers narrowed.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop. I expected better of you.” Without another work she left the break room.

While she spent the next several days avoiding him, by all accounts Dr. Fleach returned to her typically irritable self, dress, carriage, and behavior. It seemed that no one, save Hatecraft, remembered her deviation from the norm. At least, not until he found her shouting at Professor Smythe outside of Science Hall.

He hadn’t been intentionally following the shouting, nor had he been paying attention to the words—as he had been trying to create viable short answer essay questions all day—so he was at a loss as to what the argument was about. All he could see was that Dr. Fleach was bright red in the face and panting heavily while Professor Smythe grimly glared at her. The latter was the first to note his presence and briefly nodding at him before refocusing her attention on her compatriot.

“I don’t make the rules, Dr. Fleach, and if you want to go against the committee’s expectations, it’s your position at stake—not mine. Be there or regret it,” Professor Smythe said. With that she turned sharply on her stilettos, hit Dr. Fleach in the face with the end of her ponytail, and stalked away.

Hatecraft wasn’t certain what to do under the circumstance. He didn’t particularly want to draw attention to the fact that Dr. Fleach and Professor Smythe had clearly just finished a particularly bitter argument, but he also couldn’t let things stay as they were. Too many academics preferred to stew in their problems until they festered into bitter grudges that impeded progress. Besides, he knew Dr. Fleach was under enough stress without adding petty squabbles with coworkers.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he offered, realizing this might finally be his chance to do something for his colleague.

“Hatecraft!” Dr. Fleach blinked furiously as she adjusted her glasses. “Yes, thank you, you can go to the airport for me.”

“The airport?”

“Yes, I have to pick up… my friend, but Professor Smythe just reminded me that Tub’s dissertation defense is this afternoon and I’m his advisor. I’d send one of my other grad students, but Tom is teaching and Mary Anne isn’t licensed.”

“That is quite a dilemma,” Hatecraft agreed. He stroked his beard and tried to think about his own schedule. A trip out to the airport was more than he had bargained for, but if this was genuinely of assistance to Dr. Fleach, he couldn’t say no without admitting to himself that he was a hypocrite. Plus, if he was able to help this might be his chance to make friends with her. “What time is the flight?”

“She’s supposed to get in at 1:15, but the flight’s already been delayed by half an hour and I don’t know how many more times they’ll push things back,” Dr. Fleach groused. “Especially since they’ve been in the air for hours already.”

“I can be there to pick her up. Cancelling office hours is no trouble—not like anyone comes anyway—and I can bring her back here straightaway.”

“Really?” Dr. Fleach stared at him intently and he suddenly felt like an invertebrate under a microscope, but for once he wasn’t found lacking. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess there was hope in her eyes.

“Absolutely,” Hatecraft promised. He hadn’t felt this confident about a decision since declaring his English as his major when he was an undergrad. “What’s her name?”

“Dinkley.”

“Like the author?”

Dr. Fleach snorted and a smirk flickered across her face before saying, “Exactly like that.”

“Right ho, I’ll make a sign and be to the airport by one then.”

Hatecraft assumed that was the end of the conversation, but to his surprise Dr. Fleach didn’t stalk away. Instead she continued to stand there chewing her lower lip. He wondered if there was something else she wanted.

“Thank you,” she suddenly said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You don’t have to do this, but I greatly appreciate you helping me like this. I won’t forget it.”

“Well, of course. Colleagues and friends help each other out,” Hatecraft said. He hadn’t expected her to say anything along these lines, but it was much appreciated. Dr. Fleach nodded and then walked away.

Hatecraft couldn’t think any more about his new obligation because he had a lecture, but once that was over he headed back to his office. With a few swipes of his favorite calligraphy pen he had a placard ready to pick Ms. Dinkley up from the airport in his own distinctively attractive hand.

Hatecraft left his office later than he had meant to and arrived at the airport later still. However, it was another hour before the plane in question finally arrived. As the clearly exhausted passengers finally started filtering their way down to the baggage claim he held up his sign prominently and waited for this Dinkley to appear. A few people glanced curiously at his signage, but none paused, much less stopped.

“Jinkies, I was sure Marcie would be the one to pick me up.”

Hatecraft turned and was shocked to see a face he recognized. Sure, she looked a little more tired and haggard than he was used to, but this was the same face as the one found on the inside jacket of the book currently sitting on his bedroom nightstand at home. That’s when he realized he wasn’t picking up a Dinkley, but the Dinkley. As in Velma Dinkley: best selling author of real case studies and mystery fiction. That certainly explained why she had been off in Bangladesh, Mystery Incorporated was famous for trotting the globe, explaining the unexplained. He felt silly for not putting the pieces together sooner, though he had to wonder how she knew Dr. Fleach so well. Perhaps they became friends through a case.

“Ms. Dinkley, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, lowering the sign and offering her an outstretched hand. “Dr. Fleach was unable to come, so she sent me in her place. I am H.P. Hatecraft.”

“The author of _Char Gar Gothakon: The Beast That Hath No Name_ , right?” Ms. Dinkley grinned as she shook his name. “I’m delighted to meet you professor, but please call me Velma.”

“I’m sorry, Char Gar Gothakon? How can the creature have no name if it’s named in the title?” Hatecraft asked. He was truly perplexed that Velma, as Ms. Dinkley said he could call her, seemed to recognize him, but for a piece of literature he had no recollection of. Perhaps she was confusing him with another Hatecraft? Although, there were very few of them and surely he would have heard about one that was an author.

Velma blinked twice and burst into near hysterical giggles. Hatecraft reached a hand out to try and steady or calm her down, but stopped his hand a mere inch from her shoulder. He didn’t know he well enough to know if this action would be well received or if she would consider it a violation of her personal space. Luckily, Velma calmed down before he had to come to a decision.

“My most sincere apologies, Professor Hatecraft, I just got off a sixteen hour flight and I’m a little loopy from jetlag. I also hadn’t gotten a lot of rest before boarding the flight, which was, of course, on top of a fairly tense six months out of the country. Of course you didn’t write a book about Char Gar Gothakon. That would be silly.”

“That is quite alright,” Hatecraft responded, waving off the mistake, though every time she said the name ‘Char Gar Gothakon’ he felt a shiver run down his spine as if the name actually held meaning. “If I am to call you Velma, then I insist you call me H.P. as my friends do.” Or rather as Regina always did, but she was the closest thing he had to a genuine friend these days—though most of her comments to him were like pins jabbed into his tender flanks.

“Thank you, H.P.. Well, I’ve got my carry-on bag and the rest of my things will be traveling back to the states via Mystery Machine, so what do you say we head to your car now?”

“I would like nothing better.”

Once they were ensconced in Hatecraft’s car he began to notice a smell. At first it had seemed faint enough to simply be an imagined memory, but soon it pervaded the entire vehicle. It was simply vile and reminded him vaguely of rotting hot dogs. Not only did it make him want to gag, but it made things hard for him to focus on the road, which was alarming as they were moving at a fast clip on the freeway. He couldn’t wait to get Velma out of the car and if all favors smelled so bad, he’d never do another one for Dr. Fleach again.

“Get off at the next exit,” Velma said, pointing at a road sign.

“But we’re still a couple exits from the university,” Hatecraft protested. “Dr. Fleach said—”

“And I don’t want to see Marcie until I’ve had a shower,” Velma cut in. “I haven’t changed since the earthquake, much less bathed, and all I want is to be clean. Surely you understand, I can see you trying not to gag.”

Hatecraft put up no further argument. He followed Velma’s directions and eventually pulled up in front of a handsome Brownstone. Ivy covered much of the lower stories and while the lawn wasn’t particularly ornamental, it was well manicured. Velma went straight up to the front door and reached into a pocket before frowning.

“Is something wrong?” Hatecraft asked, as he had followed, carrying her bag.

“I lost my keys; probably when the Mystery Machine got stuck in a swamp and Shaggy and I had to push it out,” Velma said. “No matter.”

“Onto the university?”

“Hardly.”

She reached up and pushed the metal ‘1’ that was part of the house’s address aside revealing a small lock box stored in a hole cut out of the brick. She punched in a code that released the key inside, which allowed her to unlock the door.

“Considering how easy it is to lose keys on the road, we wanted to be sure I could still get inside, but also not make it easy for burglars,” Velma explained as she returned the key to its hiding place. “This seemed like the simplest solution. Come on in.”

With that invitation he followed her into the brownstone. Velma made a beeline for the stairs as he looked around in wonder. Clearly, she didn’t live alone, as there were signs of habitation more recent than six months ago. In fact, he’d go as far as to suggest whoever else lived here had been there as recently as this morning, if the newspaper, still in its plastic bag on a side table near the door, was of any indication.

“I’m going to take a quick shower and then we’ll head to campus. I can’t wait to see Marcie!” Velma let out a giggle, startling Hatecraft, and then disappeared up the stairs. “You’re welcome to look around downstairs or help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

Since she’d probably be busy for at least half an hour, or god forbid an hour, he decided to take her up on her offer. Browsing around Hatecraft found the usual odds and ends in the cluttered kitchen, which included a wooden table piled high with books and papers. He doubted it had been used for anything but storage in months. The living room was similarly typical, though it held more photos and DVDs than his own, and there were two cats sleeping on the couch that he gave wide berth, as he was slightly allergic. Most of the photos featured Velma and Dr. Fleach in various locations around the globe, occasionally with famous people. He wondered just how close the two women were if they so regularly traveled together.

In the back of the ground floor he found what was clearly an office. Inside he found the room divided into two halves each with its own desk and organizational system. The left half of the room held to a sparse approach with few adornments to compliment the desktop computer and neat stacks of graded and ungraded reports. The other side of the room was a different matter; it seemed to be a study of organized chaos with the most prominent feature being a long bookshelf a couple feet above the desk. 

All the books on the shelf were written by Velma Dinkley, which was hardly surprising, as this had to be her side of the office. She had written far more books than he had realized and they spanned more topics than expected. Besides the murder mysteries, casework, and travel logs, it seemed that she had written several books of a scientific nature—one of which had been coauthored with Dr. Fleach. At the far end of the shelf he spotted a binder labeled ‘journal articles.’ However, the small frame next to it was far more interesting.

When he picked up the small frame Hatecraft realized it held a photograph. That itself wasn’t particularly surprising, but what was unusual was that it didn’t seem to feature an academic or professional achievement the way everything else in this room paid tribute. Instead it featured Velma and Dr. Fleach in white dresses with their arms around each other. They both had big grins on their faces and he thought Dr. Fleach looked happier than he had thought possible. He frowned, trying to figure out what the photo meant because he couldn’t imagine it meant the obvious.

“Hey, you found the office,” Velma said as she walked into the room. “This is where Marcie and I have done some of our best work.”

Hatecraft quickly set the photo down and turned to face her. Velma was toweling dry her hair, but she was fully dressed and seemed almost ready to go. Checking his watch, he realized that not fifteen minutes had passed. “Are you already ready to leave?”

“Yep. I’d like to see her as soon as possible now, so let’s go.”

When they got to Dr. Fleach’s office they found her glaring at her computer as she furiously typed. Velma knocked on the doorframe to announce her presence. In a surprisingly glib voice she asked, “Am I too late for office hours?”

Dr. Fleach made a hurt noise as she turned away from her computer to look at Velma. “Never.”

Before he knew it Velma had crossed the office and pulled Dr. Fleach into her arms. She buried her face in the taller woman’s neck as the other did the same with her hair. Dr. Fleach kept running her fingers over Velma’s back as if touch sensory was the only way to ensure she was really there. He couldn’t see Velma’s hands, but he had a sense she was doing the same thing. Hatecraft didn’t know if he should leave or stay—it was clearly an intimate moment and he ought to respect their privacy, but he feared that if he moved he’d distract them. So he stood there just outside the open office door and averted his gaze.

“Until this moment I was so scared I was hallucinating your calls to avoid dealing with the fact you were dead,” Dr. Fleach murmured.

“Any reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I promise,” Velma replied.

“You can’t keep doing this to me. I hate it when you’re gone for so long and I can’t stand worrying about your safety constantly.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I know… I know I promised to never try and change you, but V, I’m going to break if I go through this again. I won’t survive losing you.”

“Oh Marcie, I never meant to put you through this. When I left, the gang hadn’t finished unearthing the Mystery Machine, but I told them I had to get back to you. They understood.”

“I don’t care if they understand,” Dr. Fleach hissed.

“And I told them I couldn’t keep doing this with them either; that after fifteen years of traveling around in a van with them I needed a break.”

“For how long?” 

Hatecraft cringed at the hope in his colleague’s voice. He shouldn’t be hearing this, not any of it. It wasn’t his place, nor would she want him eavesdropping on such a personal conversation. However he couldn’t leave undetected and cursed the stylish wingtips he put on this morning that squeaked on the tile floors of the Science Hall.

“At least a year. Possibly two to three.”

“I get you for that long?”

“Well, Daphne’s pregnant, though she hasn’t told Fred yet, so I think she’d support the decision not to travel as well. She’s wanted a break for a while now, but didn’t have the courage to say so.”

“So this break is for Daphne,” Dr. Fleach said flatly.

“Jinkies no, Marcie! The break’s because I miss you and I need you and almost dying in a van under two stories of rubble drove home how much I take you for granted. You’re my rock, M, and it’s time I start putting you first. So, I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“I’ll always take you, V.”

“But, just because I’m not traveling with the gang doesn’t mean I won’t be traveling,” Velma warned. “My publishers have been wanting me to go on a book tour for ages and you know how stir crazy I get when I stay in one place for too long.”

“I’m well aware,” Dr. Fleach snorted fondly.

“But if I’m just doing domestic book tours, I’ll be home regularly and for much longer periods than typical. You might get sick of me.”

“Never.”

“And perhaps, if it fit into your schedule, you could come with me on part of the tour—at least the short legs. We haven’t traveled together since grad school.”

“I would love nothing better.”

Hatecraft glanced up to see that the two women had started kissing. That altered the situation enough that he really couldn’t stay and truly needed to make a hasty exit. He twisted one foot in hopes of making a soundless about-face and his wingtip let out an unholy screech. Of course it was attention grabbing enough to break the women apart. Both turned to stare at him. He had never before wanted to melt through a floor half as much as he did so now.

“Dr. Hatecraft. You’re here,” Dr. Fleach said, horror etched across her face.

“Err… yes,” he replied weakly.

“He was kind enough to give me a ride here,” Velma said. She squeezed Dr. Fleach’s shoulder. “He wanted nothing more than to ensure we were reunited as soon as possible.”

“Yes, thank you again,” Dr. Fleach said. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been able to pick her up.”

“Probably ordered a taxi,” Hatecraft laughed nervously. “Well then, I will see you, both of you, at the faculty meeting tonight. Enjoy reacquainting yourselves.”

With that he strode away on his squeaking shoes as quickly as he could. He regretted every word that had just come out of his mouth, as they were so mundane and lackluster that one would think he were an economics professor instead of an English one. The suggestion didn’t even make sense, as Dr. Fleach never bothered to attend university sponsored parties and he couldn’t imagine her wanting to attend the same night Velma had returned from overseas. Really, all he had done was cement the image that he was an imbecile to two women that he admired. At least he’d be able to drown his sorrows at the party’s open bar.

To his utter shock Dr. Fleach attended the faculty party with Velma in tow. In fact, they were already at the party when he arrived, talking with Dr. Fleach’s graduate students. After the way their last meeting ended he would have given them wide berth, but Velma caught his eye and waved him over as she continued chatting with Mary Anne. He couldn’t ignore that, especially if it meant there was someone who actually wanted to talk to him about something other than fixing a grade.

“So, as you can see, my dissertation is ingenious,” Mary Anne finished as Hatecraft approached. She pushed her glasses up her nose and cleared her throat. “Do you have any questions? I can try to simplify my explanation if you need it.”

“No thank you, I’m already quite familiar with the mechanics of your energy deriving hamster ball,” Velma said. Mary Anne looked quite affronted by Velma’s description of her project, but Tom and Tub started laughing hysterically. “However, I can’t wait to see the data from your initial tests once the prototype is functioning—especially the efficiency rating.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s exactly what she’s built,” Tub laughed.

“How did you know the size of Mary Anne’s device?” Tom asked. “I mean, I’ve heard it described at least a dozen times and I wouldn’t know without seeing the schematics.”

“But I have seen the schematics,” Velma said. “In fact, I’ve seen every draft of all of your respective dissertations.”

“How?” Tub asked.

“I send Ms. Dinkley copies of all my work for her valuable insight and I extend the same courtesy to you as well,” Dr. Fleach said. She smirked at Velma, who smiled back. “Who do you think left the secondary comments on your papers? My initials certainly aren’t VD.”

“I thought it was Dr. Dempsey,” Tom said. He cringed a little as Dr. Fleach stared incredulously. “But I guess it wouldn’t make sense to share our research with an economics professor.”

“No, it would not,” Dr. Fleach firmly agreed. Velma gently elbowed her in the side, which made Dr. Fleach glance at her then add, “It was good of you to try and determine Ms. Dinkley’s identity—an informed person ought to know the source of their information—but you should have simply asked me instead of assuming.”

“You know what they say about assuming,” Velma trailed off.

That was the sort of crack that usually had Dr. Fleach scowling and demanding people acted like civilized adults. However, to Hatecraft’s surprise Dr. Fleach simply snorted and smiled slightly before nodding in agreement. The grad students exchanged a glance. They were just as startled by Dr. Fleach’s behavior as he was.

“You’re clearly more learned than we had first surmised, which we should have realized since you’re Dr. Fleach’s associate,” Mary Anne said. “Do you have an area of expertise?”

“My interests vary wildly and I’ve expended a lot of time and effort to learn at least a little bit about everything,” Velma breezily explained. “If you’re asking about advanced degrees specifically, I have a master’s in sticking my nose in other people’s business.” 

“Oh please, I’ve seen your MS and it was clearly awarded for biochemistry,” Dr. Fleach retorted.

“That’s just what they printed on the diploma,” Velma said, winking. All three grad students seemed receptive to Velma’s remarks, though there was some variation in their level of positivity. “Now, it’s been a delight finally putting faces to the names and papers, but I think it’s time Dr. Fleach and I release you lot so that you can actually enjoy the party. You’ve all been very gracious, especially considering the fact you weren’t expecting to perform this evening.”

“Aww shucks, Ms. Dinkley, your questions weren’t half as difficult as the committee’s questions this afternoon. Dr. Fleach seemed especially irritated and nearly stumped ole Tub a couple of times,” Tom laughed as he elbowed Tub in the ribs.

“I apologize for that, Dr. Murphy, it was extremely unprofessional of me to ask some of those questions during your defense, especially as I understood better than the rest where the scope and focus of your research lay,” Dr. Fleach said. She bowed her head. “I let a personal matter cloud my judgment and that is simply unacceptable.”

“Please don’t worry about it, Dr. Fleach, I figured you were trying to push me a little farther so that I could succeed like you usually do.” Tub shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Everything turned out for the best.”

“I take it that means you successfully defended your dissertation and congratulations are in order, Tub?” Hatecraft asked. “Or should I say, Dr. Murphy?”

“Thanks, Professor, but everyone’s still welcome to call me Tub. I doubt I could ever get Tom to call me anything else,” Tub said. He turned to Velma. “You should come check out my project in the lab on Monday!”

“Count on it,” Velma promised. “Now shoo, go mingle, have fun, and leave the old people to gossip.”

As Dr. Fleach’s students departed Dr. Fleach turned to Velma and frowned. “I’m not that old.”

“No, you’re just the right amount of old,” Velma agreed as she ran a thumb over the tiny crow’s feet beginning to form at the corner of Dr. Fleach’s eye. “Those weren’t there the last time I saw you.”

“I aged about a decade worrying in the last two weeks,” Dr. Fleach replied flatly. “Were you serious about coming in on Monday?”

“Yes, I assumed you wouldn’t mind, though I suppose I shouldn’t have considering that we gave the kids a hard time about assumptions just a few minutes ago.”

“You weren’t assuming, you were using past experience to predict future behavior.” Dr. Fleach smiled and took Velma’s hand. “You know there’s no place I’d rather you be.”

As much as Hatecraft appreciated the fact these women were recently reunited, he didn’t think this was quite the place for sentimentality, especially considering the fact he Dr. Fleach preferred to maintain a certain image. So he quickly engaged Velma in a discussion about her recent adventure overseas. She had quite a lot to share, especially as it seemed wherever Mystery Incorporated they stumbled across mysteries that typically turned out to be white-collar criminals dressing up as spooks.

“It’s a little absurd really,” Velma continued as she finished the story about a trio of crooked estate agents dressing up as elephant ghosts to chase away the inhabitants of a village, which held the land rights to what was about to become a major gas field. “I mean, statistically, the likelihood of us repeatedly running into criminals who persistently choose to dress up and scare people is so unlikely that you’d think some greater force has engineered these meetings for us.”

“Is that your way of saying that you believe in divinity?” Hatecraft asked.

“And that’s my cue to get us drinks,” Dr. Fleach said.

“Is it something I said?” he asked as they watched her walk over to the buffet table.

“Marcie and I have argued about this over the years. I wouldn’t say that I necessarily believe in the traditional standard definition of God—still waiting for evidence on that particular front—but I’ve experienced enough weird things in my time that I know there are beings out there with more control over our experience and perception of life than we mere mortals possess,” Velma explained. “Marcie… our Marcie here, has not shared those experiences.”

“I see.”

They watched as Dr. Fleach lifted three flutes of Champagne from a drink stand. As she was carefully placing them on a paper plate to carry back an older gentleman approached her. His hairline had receded rather far back, which made his already large forehead even more prominent and a pair of pince-nez rested on his beak-like nose. Hatecraft winced as the fellow engaged Dr. Fleach in conversation, which even from this distance was clearly heating rapidly.

“Oh dear, it seems Pericles has decided he has a bone to pick with Dr. Fleach,” Hatecraft sighed.

“Pericles?” Velma yelped in alarm. “I thought that was the Creationex Corp mascot.”

“Yes and our good professor has never been happy about that particular coincidence. If you talk to him, please don’t bring it up. He’s even worse than Dr. Fleach when he’s upset and feeling self-righteous.” Hatecraft grimaced as he remembered with whom he was talking. “No offense.”

However, Velma didn’t seem to have heard his last statement as she was still staring intently at Dr. Pericles. She muttered something under her breath that sounded rather like ‘he even looks like the parrot’ to Hatecraft, but he couldn’t believe that’s what she really said. A moment later she straightened and announced she had to rescue Dr. Fleach before this turned into a genuine scene and headed toward the academics. Hatecraft followed at a distance.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Velma asked once she reached Dr. Fleach’s side. She gently squeezed Dr. Fleach’s shoulder, which appeared to calm her down enough that she wasn’t about to take Dr. Pericles‘s head off with her Champagne flute, but the physics professor was still clearly seething.

“This gentleman,” Dr. Fleach gritted out as if the very definition of the term mortally offended her, “seems to think I brought a random stranger with me to this social event.”

Velma frowned, which seemed to vindicate Dr. Fleach’s reaction.

“While it is true many have considered me rather strange and I have certainly had brilliant yet random leaps of logic, the concept of those two words being applied to our relationship is utterly alien,” Velma said. “Sir, you seem to be laboring under a colossal misunderstanding of my relationship with Dr. Fleach.”

“And what would that be, Ms. Dinkley?” Dr. Pericles demanded.

“Marcie’s my wife,” Velma said.

“We’ve been married six years—together for over a decade,” Dr. Fleach added. She had calmed enough that Hatecraft could see she was viscerally enjoying Dr. Pericles‘s abject horror as he realized his massive faux pas. “Considering how Darrow University has repeatedly stressed throughout my entire tenure at this institute of higher learning that one ought to bring their significant other to social events, I am utterly disgusted by your reaction to my spouse.”

“Six years?” Dr. Pericles choked.

“You can’t entirely blame him, Marcie, I’ve never been to one of these events before and you have been working here for almost four years,” Velma said.

“I don’t think the fact you’re generally working abroad should be held against us,” Dr. Fleach retorted. “If he had questions about who you were and why you were here, he could have asked about our relationship or given me an opening to explain. Instead he insulted my judgment—”

“—which is more problematic than insulting you,” Velma interjected with a fond smile. Dr. Fleach rolled her eyes, but the exasperated smirk on her face was genuine.

“And more importantly, he insulted you and your right to be here, which I won’t accept under any circumstances,” Dr. Fleach finished. “The one place you will always belong, no matter what, is by my side.”

“My most sincere apologies, Marcie, Velma,” Dr. Pericles began, but it was clear he had made a tactical error attempting an informal apology in hopes of conveying sincerity, for Dr. Fleach puffed up again like a blowfish.

“That is Dr. Fleach and Ms. Dinkley to you! I earned my title and she hasn’t given you permission to use her given name, especially when trying to eke out a half assed apology!”

“And with that I believe we will be saying our farewells,” Velma said as she bodily propelled Dr. Fleach in the opposite direction. “Dr. Pericles, it was an event meeting you, you certainly live up to the stories Marcie has told me about you. Good night.”

Sparing only a moment for Velma to nod at Dr. Fleach’s grad students and smile at Hatecraft, the pair left in haste. Hatecraft wasn’t a betting man, but he would lay down money that Velma and Dr. Fleach went home to their cats and to reacquaint themselves with each other after six months apart. On Monday morning Dr. Fleach’s demeanor was different enough, even when apart from Velma, that he suddenly had a much better understanding as to why she occasionally appeared to be under mood altering substances. It certainly made Hatecraft yearn for something other than his confirmed bachelorhood.

Not being part of the science department, Hatecraft missed most of the fallout from the disastrous party. Luckily, whatever issues there were weren’t so bad as to involve Dean Fenk or any possible disgrace on the university as a whole. While he was sure that the residual effects of the tiff were longer lasting within the department, from the outside the science department seemed placidly normal by Wednesday afternoon. Hatecraft wasn’t even thinking about the faculty party incident when there was a knock on his office door.

“Enter,” he called without looking up.

“Dr. Hatecraft,” Dr. Fleach said.

“Ah, good to see you, Dr. Fleach, come in sit down,” Hatecraft said, rising from his seat and gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. She walked over, but did not sit. “How is Velma?”

“Good. She’s decided we’re hosting a dinner Friday night,” Dr. Fleach announced.

“Ah.”

“For my grad students, as a get to know you event, even though I’ve known them for years and Tub leaves at the end of the semester.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Howard, my own graduate student, and I have a weekly tea and discuss literature.”

“You’re also to attend,” Dr. Fleach said. She pushed her glasses up her nose and resolutely fixed her stare somewhere several inches to the right of Hatecraft’s ear. “I don’t want to be outnumbered by children in my own home and you seem like a reasonable ally. You did help me get Velma home safely.”

“Am I to understand I’m invited to dinner Friday night?” Hatecraft grinned.

“Yes.”

“At your home.”

“Yes.”

“With you and your wife.”

“And my graduate students.”

“But you’re inviting me because you want me there.”

“…yes,” Dr. Fleach said after a moment.

“Does this mean that you consider me a friend?” Hatecraft asked hopefully. Dr. Fleach shrugged, but it was half hearted in a way that made him think she wasn’t saying yes only because she didn’t want to admit it. “May I use your given name?”

“Are you serious?” Dr. Fleach demanded. Hatecraft shrank back. There was a rather pointed cough from the door and they both turned to see Velma glaring from the doorway. Dr. Fleach shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine, we can be on a first name basis, if you really wish, but not in front of the students.”

“Of course, Marcie,” Hatecraft eagerly agreed. “There’s a level of decorum that must always be maintained.”

“Dinner is at seven. Be on time.” Then Marcie grinned and tapped a book Hatecraft had half shoved under a pile of freshman composition papers. “If you want Velma to autograph any of her books for you, H.P., you should bring them along.”

With that Marcie sauntered out of the office into Velma’s arms. As they walked away Hatecraft could hear some of their conversation.

“I’m so proud of you, Marcie,” Velma said. 

“Can it, Dinkley.”

“You made a friend!”

“I have lots of friends!”

“You have me and a couple of research pen pals.”

“See, plenty of friends. I have plural friends.”

“The research pen pals are not friends.”

“Says you.”

I have two words for you.”

“Don’t say it,” Marcie groaned.

“Super. Helium.”

“Argh, you’re never going to let me forget that!”

“Never ever, but you know what else?” Velma said. “I love you Marcie Fleach and I am so proud of you.”

Hatecraft couldn’t hear any more of the conversation after that, but he didn’t care. He was going to have dinner with those fantastic women on Friday and even more importantly, he had made friends with them. Plural friends. He couldn’t remember the last time he had made that many. He leaned back in his chair, determined to bask in a bit of happiness before anxiety over whether or not he ought to bring more than just his copy of Velma’s books to the dinner set in. For the first time in years he was looking forward to the weekend.


End file.
